like a moth getting trapped in the light by fixation
by katanafleet
Summary: He woke up and she was still there. She was wrapped in his arms, exactly as Emma would have been. Her head rested on his shoulder. She watched him, a sad expression on her face. Without thinking he brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped the braid. After that night, that fateful night, the Dark Swan appears to him every night.
Killian stood on the deck of his ship, looking out over the water. Wishing, just a little bit, that he could sail away, that he didn't love Emma and Henry, and that he had no obligations to Storybrooke.

She appeared next to him in that puff of smoke. By now he was used to her unnatural appearances. "Yes, Dark One?" he sighed. She looked him up and down, seeing the exhaustion that he couldn't hide anymore. The sunken shoulders, the dark rings around his eyes, the despair.

She reached for his hand. He took hers without a thought.

The Dark Swan didn't lace their fingers together; that was what Killian and Emma did.

She led him across the deck and down to his cabin. Slowly, cautiously, she helped him take off his jacket and vest and shirt and pushed him lightly toward the bed. He sat on the very edge, staring at her. Wondering. The gray smoke appeared around her for a moment and she stepped out of it wearing a version of Emma's sleeping clothes. Not the white, silky ones; these were black and made of cotton.

Slowly, so slowly, as if afraid he was going to bolt, she kissed him on the cheek. Still no words. With a light push to his shoulders, Killian fell back onto the bed. She crawled over him to lie between him and the wall.

Just how Emma and Killian used to.

They didn't touch each other, just stared at the ceiling.

Finally Killian spoke. "Why?" His voice was broken.

The Dark One moved closer to him. "You need sleep. And in your dreams I can be her," she whispered.

He stiffened. "You're not her. You're not Emma, not anymore."

"I know. But pretend, just for a little while."

His exhale caught on the way out. "Why?" he repeated.

She was silent for a long moment. "This was the only way I could get any rest in Camelot," she finally whispered. "With you. Next to you, in your arms." She pressed her finger to his lips before he could ask about what happened again. "It doesn't matter, not right now. Later, it will matter, but _not now_. Please, Killian," she whispered, a sound almost as broken as his. "Let me stay."

He stared at the ceiling for another second. "Fine," he said. He tried to convince himself it was because those last words hadn't been the Dark One; they were Emma. But he let her stay because he knew that a dream, an illusion, was better than nothing.

He woke up and she was still there. She was wrapped in his arms, exactly as Emma would have been. Her head rested on his shoulder. She watched him, a sad expression on her face. Without thinking he brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped the braid.

She smiled softly when he stretched, pulling his arms back from her. They watched each other in silence for a moment. Finally she crawled back over him and stood. The smoke reappeared and she emerged the Dark Swan once more. She smirked. "Told you you'd be able to sleep with me there." And then she was gone.

After that night, that fateful night, the Dark Swan appears to him every night.

He sits on the edge of his bed every night, head in hands, wondering if she's going to come, wondering if she's going to be Emma or the Dark One. She always comes, in that silvery burst of smoke that never startles him.

She steps out of the smoke that quickly disappears and watches him.

Sometimes, she speaks.

Sometimes, it's flirtatious. "Waiting for me, Captain?"

Sometimes, it's longing. A soft "Killian…"

But most of the time she says nothing. She watches him for a few seconds as he watches her. Finally she sighs and poofs her sleeping clothes on, those not-quite-right ones that still manage to make him relax.

He lays back on the bed and she silently joins him, lays down next to him. Sometimes, she curls into his side like she's looking for comfort. Sometimes she doesn't touch him at all. Most of the time, she turns so that she's facing him but barely touching him.

That cold skin, the hand that Snow and Henry flinched away from—he never feels it. To him, she's warm and comforting.

He always wakes up to her watching him. Sometimes, she's tracing his face, just slightly, not enough to feel. Sometimes, she's watching him with a smirk. But always, she's wrapped in his arms and she never makes a move to pull away from him.

Sometimes, she seems only halfway awake and kisses his cheek in good morning. One morning, she must have actually fallen asleep and dreamed of being Emma. She kissed him on the lips briefly before she opened her eyes and curled back into his eyes, making soft little noises of contentment.

That morning, they stayed in bed for a long time. He gently pulled her hair from the intricate braid and brushed his fingers down her thinner face and cheekbones, pulling her tighter, wishing that it was Emma next to him but so grateful to have even the Dark One. Finally, though, she woke up all the way and sprang away from him, disappearing in her poof of smoke immediately.

Every morning, she smiles sadly at him, maybe says good morning, before changing back into the armor of leather and disappearing. All he can do then is get up and try to forget that every night, he has Emma next to him. Just for a few hours, the Dark Swan becomes Emma.

They know the Fury's coming.

He pulled the sword from the stone and brought Emma and their memories back. Emma destroyed the Dark One, once and for all.

Someone has to pay the price. It's Emma's price to pay; they all know that. But Killian knows who's going to pay it, and he knows it's going to be him.

He knows, from the moment that Emma and Regina reluctantly admit that the Fury's going to return, probably in the morning, that he's going to die. He's going to take Emma's place in whatever torture or afterlife the Fury's going to take Emma to.

He hasn't told anyone.

But they have one night.

Emma, finally herself once more, dressed in her red leather and her hair blonde again, takes his hand, laces their fingers together, and pulls him to the docks. He still holds Excalibur, whole again. Both of their names engraved on it forever.

Emma stumbles when they board the _Jolly Roger_ , and he helps her aboard. She's still so weak from her battle with the darkness, her entire being weakened and sapped of strength. He's not much better; unfortunately, Merida taught Rumplestiltskin well, and he feels like he's bruised all over.

They walk to the bed. Silently, he helps her with her jacket, and she helps him with his coat and vest. He falls back onto the bunk with a smirk and she softly, slowly, grins and crawls up next to him.

They lay there in the dark, not quite touching each other.

"Killian?" she finally whispers.

"Yes, love?"

"Why did you let me stay here every night?"

He thinks about it for a moment, then decides on the truth. "It wasn't really you, love, but she was the closest thing there was to you. I couldn't sleep without you, and apparently even three-hundred-year-old pirates need sleep."

She giggles, just a little. It's the first semblance of a real laugh he's heard in such a long time, and he pulls her into his arms. He buries his head in her hair.

"I think I actually slept a few times I was here with you."

"I remember once."

"That time, and then a few times I woke up long before you, but I had gotten sleep. Rumplestiltskin would stand in the corner, just watching. So disapproving, but somehow still jealous. That Dark Swan was getting sleep that none of the other Dark Ones had gotten. Made me want to stay with you all day, just to see that jealousy on his sparkly face."

He laughs. He feels her smile against his shoulder. They lay there, for a few minutes. Silence. Perfect silence. Only broken by their quiet breathing and the rustling of her hair.

Eventually she tenses. "Killian."

"Yes, my love?" He knows what's coming and he knows he's about to break her heart.

"The Fury's coming for me tomorrow." She sits up to look at him. Even in the darkness he can see Emma's determined expression. "Don't interfere. Let it take me. You know what I did to everyone, especially to you and Henry. Please let me pay the price."

He reaches up and runs his finger across her lips. "Emma, love. You and I know that what you did, you did under the influence of the darkness. You did the deeds, yes," she relaxes just a bit, probably thinking he's not going to press the issue, "but I'm not going to watch the woman I love taken from me again. You are not going to pay the price, Emma."

She tenses again. Her hand grips his arm tightly. "Killian—"

"My mind is made up, love. No use trying to change it." He pushes his fingers into her hair, rubs his thumb down her cheek. "Remember, love, I'd go to the end of the world or time for you."

"You promised me you were a survivor. That you'd never leave me." Emma's voice shakes. He sits up to face her properly.

"I am a survivor, my love," he whispers, pressing his forehead to hers. "I will come back to you. May just take a while."

"Please don't, please, let me pay my own price." She's actually crying now. He pulls away and kisses the tears away. She surges forward and kisses him, kisses him until neither of them can breathe and she's only crying more.

"I love you, I love you so much, Emma, and I cannot live without you. I'm going to pay the price for you. Give me this, Swan," he pleads.

She's quiet for a moment. "You've never really said it before," her voice is full of wonder.

"What?"

"Even in Camelot, you never said that you loved me. Not those words exactly." She must feel the doubt washing in tsunamis over him. "I never doubted it, not for a single moment," she adds forcefully, kissing him briefly. "Your love and Henry's were the only things that got me through the whole Dark One problem."

He grins and pulls back enough to see her eyes clearly. "I love you, Emma Swan. I certainly didn't love you the moment we met, or any time close to that—" she scoffs and his grin widens "—but I have loved you for so long and I always will."

She stares at him, almost disbelievingly. Then she kisses him, long and hard, for a few moments. She then pushes him down onto the bed.

He pulls her into his side. He buries his face in her hair again, hoping that if he wishes hard enough they can just stay here together, that the Fury could stay away forever, that they could have that white picket fence future Emma mentioned in Camelot.

He hadn't known how much he wanted it until now, now that he knows this is probably his last night with her.

He feels tears on his neck. "You can't leave me, Killian," she whispers again. He pulls her closer, until he can't feel any space between them.

He kisses her forehead and whispers against her skin, "You'll have Henry, your parents, Storybrooke. You'll be bloody brilliant, my love."

"But you won't be there." She pulls away enough to look at his face. "Are you expecting everything, everyone else, to be enough?"

"I'll be back, Swan, never doubt that," he says, pulling her back to him. He unwraps his hand and shows her his rings. "Pick one, Emma."

Hopefully she knows what it is. It's his promise. His promise that he'll come back to her. And he'll marry her when he comes back.

He assumes she understands when she kisses him suddenly, roughly. Then slowly, she runs her fingers over his hand and tugs the silver band off his thumb. He sits up quickly and rummages around behind him. Quickly, much faster than he expected in the dark, he finds the silver chain Liam gave him for some reason one day.

He slips the ring onto the chain and fastens it around her neck. She kisses him, just a soft little thing, and manages a smile.

They press their foreheads together. "Come back to me, Killian Jones. You have to come back to me."

He smiles slowly. "As you wish."

They fall asleep together, arms and legs entwined, the ring clasped in Emma's hand.


End file.
